


This Old House

by radioactivescreenname



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 3
Genre: Headcanon, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioactivescreenname/pseuds/radioactivescreenname
Summary: Just a bunch of headcanons about Underworld and its development, from the point of view of Winthrop.





	

Time slowed to a halt as soon as the first bombs went off.  
Winthrop always seemed to be forgetting how long it had been - 20 years now, 25? Not that it mattered anyway. Who was keeping track?  
In that time he had scarcely left the museum where he’d taken shelter. There had been a few dozen of them back in the day…he tried not to think about them. Most had died when the radiation set in and those that didn’t, well…they ended up like him and Carol.  
They had both been young when it happened. He didn’t know her story, he was sure that she’d told him once where she was from but every day just melded together now. He had been taking a job at the museum doing maintenance under the watchful eye of his uncle, a mechanic by trade. He’d died 19 years ago, Winthrop thought, though it could have been longer.  
Just six years after the bombs, there was a small influx of people to come into the museum, some already bearing the same condition as Winthrop and Carol. One such called himself Ahzrukhal. He was far older than either Carol or Winthrop, and as such he made it his duty to assume immediate control of the Underworld exhibit.  
Winthrop joked with Carol often about how it suited his devilish demeanour. She never laughed at these jokes.  
Word soon came round that Ahzrukhal had successfully claimed the exhibit and was interested in starting a sort of community there. He proposed that the handful of survivors he’d brought with him would scavenge for food and beds, and Winthrop could manage the water supply and power. In exchange, Ahzrukhal made a promise to personally provide for Winthrop in this community, which he hoped would soon flourish.  
Naïve as he was, Winthrop signed on. It was no problem to get the water working, the only issue was that it did still have some amounts of radiation in it. At the reassuring of Ahzrukhal that radiation couldn’t do them harm in their current condition, Winthrop agreed to call it good enough.  
The power was another story entirely. The wing to the central generators had been destroyed completely, leaving only the local power sources. These required resources that Winthrop didn’t have; until one day one of Ahzrukhal's cronies showed up miraculously with a Fusion Core. Winthrop set to work for a week to convert the generator to run on fusion energy and he was met with praise from Ahzrukhal.  
As his trust toward Ahzrukhal rose, Carol urged him to be cautious. He was clearly a shifty guy, and she warned that he might only be using Winthrop’s skill to his own benefit.  
Most often Winthrop reassured that his only interests were in this potential community. The thought seemed to soothe her enough that she allowed Winthrop to continue.  
Within a period of a few years, the Underworld exhibit had begun to feel more like something hospitable. Soon Carol agreed to migrate there, for the sake of her own safety. More mutants - “ghouls”, as the scavengers claimed they were called - began pouring in. By the time 25 years had passed after the bombs, two new contenders for political control had appeared.  
The first was Meat. He was level-headed, brilliant, and selfless, qualities which made him an instant target for Ahzrukhal's malice. He was constantly subjected to the other man’s dissent to his ideas during community meetings, and it was Ahzrukhal who proposed an annual vote for leader of what soon became known simply as Underworld. Of course, the first several elections were tipped in Ahzrukhal's favour by his abundant cronies, but Meat never seemed to lose hope.  
The second came in the midst of election week nearly 10 years after Meat’s arrival. His name was Barrows, and he boasted the unique and valuable skill of having medical training. He gained favour quickly, but the favour of residents was soon split between he and Meat, rendering Ahzrukhal the default winner of every political race for quite a few years yet to come.  
It was around this time that Ahzrukhal revealed the project he’d been so dedicated to for the last several years: the Ninth Circle. Ghouls began flocking in droves to the bar, totally disregarding the rising political climate.  
Winthrop, too, had fallen victim to the allure of the bar. He frequented the place daily after working on maintaining the museum for the growing ghoul population.  
Ahzrukhal seemed to revel in his company, and often made a point to have a drink ready for his repairman when he first walked in. Other patrons clearly envied the relationship; the barkeep hardly spoke a word to them most days.  
Although there was something sinister about him, Winthrop found himself enjoying Ahzrukhal's company as well. He spent more time talking to him than drinking, thankfully, and was always reluctant to head back down the stairs to his workshop.  
He and Carol became closer during this time, too. She would follow Winthrop around the Concourse as he worked, offering help that was always turned down, instead asking what he was doing and how it was done.  
She provided something of a distraction from the tedious work of maintaining the museum. Then one day she suggested looking over the Lower Halls for anything to use for supplies. Winthrop insisted upon going in alone and found little in the way of supplies, but something better.  
He set to work for the next few months trying to reprogram and restore the robot and, just as Ahzrukhal had done, he presented his finished project as a surprise to all of Underworld. The Mister Gutsy would be their newest security guard, free of charge. He still wouldn’t earn his name of Cerberus for nearly a hundred years, but the citizens were nonetheless grateful for the newest addition.  
That is, until he started developing a personality of his own. Winthrop was the first ghoul he ever threatened to gun down, but every last one in Underworld had been intimidated within the week. Winthrop received fearful complaints to which he always replied that the Mister Gutsy wouldn't hurt them so long as they didn’t hurt him. Tension was eased for the time being.  
Quinn arrived not even a year after Barrows had gotten settled. He was young at the time of his ghoulification, too; young enough that he often talked about his family. He seemed to be waiting for a cousin of his and assumed that she would make her way here after finding it was the settlement for ghouls. Quinn was a worldly type and this made him popular amongst the locals; rather than be cooped up inside a museum for 26 years, he had opted to roam the wasteland. Only now did he decide to find a place to settle on occasion.  
He left only five days after he arrived, but rumour had it Ahzrukhal had arranged a deal with him to bring in some more diverse trade. And this became his role in the community.  
Winthrop had the suspicion he was also looking for his younger cousin, although he had his doubts at her survival.  
The population remained mostly stagnant for nearly 60 years after that. Somewhere in that time, Winthrop had had a breakdown about his immortality and spent days in the Circle without speaking. It came and passed as all things do and he went back to work as though nothing had happened. No one ever asked him about it and before long, he, too had totally forgotten the incident.

85 years after the bombs fell, two new ghouls arrived. They came together, although Winthrop had the feeling that they weren’t exactly friends.  
One of them seemed to follow the other around. This one couldn’t speak, only look around with those wide, terrified eyes. She was called Ethyl.  
The other boasted a haughty attitude, and from even just the way she walked one could tell that she had ways of getting anything she wanted. She was also a vicious flirt, and though she had hit on Winthrop and several other residents already, she quickly found herself enamoured with Ahzrukhal. This was Edith Wormwood.  
Winthrop almost had to be impressed with how quickly she earned Ahzrukhal's favour. Hushed rumours circulated that she had slept with him to do it. No one really knew if it was true; they didn’t dare to ask. Nonetheless, she was a new presence in the bar and as such, the barkeep’s fondness for Winthrop dwindled into something more loathsome. It saddened Winthrop deeply but there was no arguing, not with Edith around.  
Carol was more than willing to once again take Winthrop’s friendship. They grew close once more.  
Not even one year had passed since the new arrivals when Ethyl tried to attack the Mister Gutsy. This was the first time anyone had heard her ‘speak’, a guttural snarl had escaped as she tried to maul the robot. Winthrop ordered the Gutsy to stand down and tried to detain Ethyl, too; to no avail. Something was wrong with her.  
Doctor Barrows suggested he take a look at her. To do so, however, he would need to have her in his clinic, which, Winthrop soon found, was easier said than done. Using the help of his Mister Gutsy to stun Ethyl instead of kill her, Winthrop found a way. He personally hauled the injured and confused ghoul down to the clinic, but Barrows was less than happy to see them.  
“You had to hurt her? Look, her leg’s broken! She’s in shock!” The list went on and the doctor never paused to give Winthrop a chance to defend himself. The repairman simply walked out of the clinic, unwilling to hear any more complaints. Later Carol assured him that he was just doing his job.  
Within a few years, something miraculous happened within Underworld’s walls. The annual vote had come around, and for the first time Ahzrukhal hadn’t won. Meat was duly appointed the new mayor of Underworld and maintained the position for 8 years in a row.  
In this time, the population began declining as Ahzrukhal's cronies turned up missing. They stopped coming in from scavenging trips, and even Quinn had no idea where they were. They simply never came back.  
Control over Underworld changed hands between Meat and Barrows for around 30 years before it finally fell to Winthrop. To have the responsibility of the whole town on his head and to maintain it at the same time nearly proved over-whelming, but at Carol’s encouragement he kept the jobs balanced for the two years he was elected.  
Then came Charon.  
He arrived in the dead of the night, following in Edith’s proud wake. Those who saw him spoke the next day of a hulking silent ghoul who would have towered over anyone in Underworld. He was something of a myth for a few hours, until some went into the Ninth Circle to confirm his presence.  
He was formally introduced to the community the following night, to make an example of some unfortunate soul who owed Ahzrukhal a hefty sum of caps. As though it were a public spectacle, Ahzrukhal commanded his new muscle to shoot the man in plain sight of everyone.  
For the first time in decades, Winthrop was back in the Ninth Circle, arguing boldly with the man he had once called a friend, a lifetime ago. He could feel eyes on his back as he berated the barkeep for the slaughter of innocents; Charon glowered from the corner, still as the statue in the Concourse, and Edith observed from her perch by the door, her upturned lips painted blood red.  
Finally tiring of the argument, Ahzrukhal beckoned his new bodyguard to eject Winthrop from the Circle. The repairman went peacefully on his own to flag down Doctor Barrows for help moving the body.  
Weeks later there was another ghoul missing from Ahzrukhal's pack. Edith Wormwood, who hardly ever ventured outside of Underworld, let alone the Ninth Circle. Her disappearance started a myriad of rumours even after Quinn reported he’d found her dead in the metro just outside of the museum.  
Raiders were the primary culprits, although a good portion of the Underworld residents believed it to have been Charon or even Ahzrukhal himself. As far as Winthrop knew, the mystery surrounding her death was never solved. The people of Underworld moved on to other subjects and it seemed as though Winthrop was the only one who noticed no change in the barkeep’s behaviour. Even he moved past it, though, by the close of the year.  
Another several years passed before anyone noteworthy showed up. Most ghouls who passed through were only staying temporarily before moving on to find other settlements. Greta had the same intention at first.  
She arrived in the midst of an exodus wherein several residents had grown tired of the tedious life in the museum. The population dwindled by half, and it showed. Even Winthrop, out of work most days, had considered leaving, but ultimately decided not to. And in this decision he met Greta.  
In all his 100-something years in Underworld, Winthrop had given hardly a thought to the aspect of romance. He still wasn’t certain what he was thinking when he asked to court Greta, nor why she might have said yes. Their relationship lasted for a solid year or two before they came to the conclusion that neither had what they were looking for.  
Afterward Greta became attached to Carol and within a span of five years, the two worked to restore the exhibit across from the Ninth Circle to become a bed and breakfast. It was wildly successful in the first few months, before her customers began drifting back to the Ninth Circle save for a few regulars, Winthrop included.  
The mass ghoul ban came somewhere around 140 years after the bombs. Underworld was still marked nowhere on the map, and most ghouls who sought its shelter never arrived. Quinn did his best to direct what exiles he came across, but there was only so much he could do alone.  
He finally managed to find his cousin, however; after over a century of searching. Quinn personally escorted her to Underworld and helped her set up Underworld Outfitters in the Concourse. On the rare occasions he stayed to come back, he often looked over her store for her while she took meals at Carol’s.  
This was where Winthrop had gotten to know her. Her name was Tulip, and upon realising who Winthrop was, she confessed her interest in getting the old terminal in her store back up and running. He promised to do it for her and spent his free time for two weeks working on the terminal.  
A few others arrived in the flurry of the ghoul ban, Willow among them. She spent maybe a week in the Concourse before she tired of the indoors and volunteered for guard duty. Doctor Barrows, once more appointed mayor, approved and she was hardly seen in the museum afterward.  
Nurse Graves arrived in time to help study Meat.  
Meat’s final term as mayor came three years after the ghoul ban. He stepped down with dignity, fearing that his deteriorating condition might impede his progress. During this revelation he also confessed that he had been examined by Doctor Barrows and was confirmed to be showing signs of turning feral. Many were upset to see him go, but appreciated that he had the opportunity to retire as opposed to merely turning feral as Ethyl had. Meat spent the better part of that year in the controlled environment of the clinic and joined Ethyl after the change had taken him.  
There was another dull period for around 20 years with only a few ghouls trickling in and back out. The community was thriving now, with a store, a bar and the bed and breakfast. Winthrop could vaguely remember a smoothskin coming around often in that period, trailing a ghoul behind him that the old repairman had scarcely met. They called themselves adventurers. The community was friendly toward the human for the most part, those who didn’t approve of him being in their safe space kept quiet around him only to gossip behind his back. Then one day they left, never to return.  
The next ghouls to arrive were Gob and Patchwork, just over a year and a half apart from one another. Gob was an anxious, scrawny little thing; it was a wonder he’d survived in the wasteland long enough to become a ghoul. He wouldn’t reveal his true age, only that he had been a ghoul for somewhere around three years. Carol immediately took him under her wing and after a few years, he was finally comfortable to call himself her son.  
Patchwork was another story entirely. Willow had escorted him in one morning and took him immediately to the clinic. Murmurs circulated quickly while he was in there, most claiming that he, too, would turn feral soon, and that it wasn’t Underworld’s job to take in every stray feral in DC.  
He emerged some time later completely fine. The vicious rumours still continued however, and Winthrop took it upon himself to silence the ghouls who opposed to the new arrival.  
As Winthrop learned from talking with Patchwork, he was simply being treated for a peculiar condition wherein his body had weakened during ghoulification, rendering his joints insufficient to keep limbs together and attached. It was gruesome, Winthrop thought, but at least the man was comfortable with his condition.  
He didn’t see Patchwork for a few weeks after the rumours finally stopped. One night Winthrop caught him coming out of the Ninth Circle, drunk enough he didn’t initially recognise the mechanic. This happened often enough for Winthrop to worry about him and he began to look out for Patchwork on top of his other duties. He didn't mind, really; just so long as he knew the poor sap was safe and happy. They grew close quickly and stayed good friends.

Gob left not even 15 years after he arrived. He wanted to see the world, as he and Carol had announced to Winthrop. Though he didn’t admit it, the old repairman worried for the poor kid for years. Anyone could tell that he just wasn’t made to survive in a place like the Capital Wasteland.  
And again Underworld remained in a suspended state, its small community at a standstill for 25 years. Much was happening outside, as Quinn was always certain to tell everyone who would listen, but in the dusty museum everything was just the same as always.  
The radio signal came on around this time. Both Greta and Ahzrukhal were clamouring for Winthrop to restore radios for them. He had his hands full at the time but accepted payment under the table from each to get it done. He found three radios throughout the museum and managed to fix two of them to the new station; the third wasn’t able to change channels. The defective one stayed in Winthrop’s workshop until a new ghoul showed interest in it.  
The last two ghouls came a few years apart from one another. Snowflake was the first. He was totally new to the experience of being a ghoul, and completely dejected about having been driven from Rivet City. For several weeks he didn’t speak much to anyone except to offer a haircut, a service which was nigh useless in a place such as Underworld. Winthrop was able to observe him speaking more often with Patchwork after some time, and the two soon frequented the Ninth Circle together.  
Finally, 200 years after the bombs, the final ghoul came. He had also originated from Rivet City, a lifetime ago, but had been locked away somewhere for 20 years. He was reluctant to talk about it. He, too, spent most of his time drifting between Carol’s Place and the Ninth Circle.  
The regular tedium settled back in as everyone acclimated to the routine. With the community as big and busy as it ever had been, Winthrop kept busy for nearly 15 hours each day. Although it was clear he needed it, he would never accept help from others. Most chalked it up to him being pretentious, not believing that another ghoul could handle the job but in reality he needed to get everything done a certain way, in a certain order. And that was just the way it was.  
Now, if he could just find all of his missing scrap metal, then things would be simple. Quinn had volunteered to bring back whatever he found, but it just wasn’t cutting it. Anything -  
The human came as a godsend. They were polite, and willing to help anyone in Underworld who asked. A bit naïve, if Winthrop were to observe, but he was merely thankful for an extra set of eyes in the wastes.  
And with any luck, everything might just have worked out in the end.


End file.
